


don't want to open that can of openers

by adverbialstarlight



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: 5+1 Things, Can Openers, Canon Compliant, Comedy of Errors, Cooking, Crack Treated Seriously, Juno and Peter are in love, Other, Peter is trying his best, bc i am, juno laughs at him, left handed peter nurevey, no beta we die like these goddamn cans, peter vs can openers, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adverbialstarlight/pseuds/adverbialstarlight
Summary: Five times Peter Nureyev couldn't use the can opener and one time he didn't have to.aka Peter fights a can opener. that's literally it.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 31
Kudos: 89





	don't want to open that can of openers

**Author's Note:**

> so peter canonically being unable to cook includes using can openers, change my mind. lmao this is so stupid jhgkfsd if it's any indication what will be in this, the title of the doc is literally "can ur pet more like can you use a can opener" 
> 
> enjoy the fuckery!

**I.**

There are not many things that Peter Nureyev cannot do, but the ones he cannot do, none of his aliases can. Suffice to say, Peter Ransom cannot cook to save his life.

It's big things like perfectly splitting the yolk and white of an egg, and its small things like... well, like using a can opener.

He doesn't tell people this. After all, what's a master thief who can steal the diamonds off a king but not open a can for dinner? Juno would not let him live that down _ever_.

Thankfully, this has been one of his better kept secrets during his time on the Carte Blanche. The produce they take is usually in tight plastic packaging or come with a tab at the top to pull open. And besides, after their first week when Peter cooked some charred pasta, Buddy very politely told him that he was not allowed in the kitchen unless there to eat.

Usually, he's happy to oblige, but tonight he's not as lucky. They're all hands on deck. Some Earth holiday or other is happening and as a _family_ , Buddy decided that a nice big dinner's in order.

"Alright darlings, we want this to go smooth as possible," Buddy says lightly. "I've divided up all the tasks for tonight's dinner. Rita, would you be so kind as to chop up the veggies? Vespa, Jet, you will be handling the rolls and mashed potatoes. Juno, you and I will prepare the roasted duck. And Pete... Now Vespa, don't give me that look. Everyone’s going to be included here. Peter, help pull everything out and wash produce for Rita, please."

Juno snickers as he passes Peter, who pouts. It’s no secret that he’s a nightmare in the kitchen, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to get offended when people other than himself point it out. “That’s quite rude, dear.”

“Is it?” Juno replies sarcastically. “I’d like to think I’m being a perfectly polite lady.” He sticks his tongue out and lets their fingers brush as he makes his way over to the sink.

Peter sighs in playful exasperation. Fondness lingers as he starts to gather everything listed on the sticky note Buddy handed him, but it disintegrates immediately when he opens the cabinet. There’s nothing obviously amiss inside. Everything is right where it’s supposed to be and Peter spots the ingredients he needs right away. That isn’t what gives him pause.

Front and center on the middle row sits a pyramid of canned beans. The Carte Blanche has been stocked with this brand since they started on this large heist, and Peter was counting on the familiar pull-tab tops when assigned this job. Instead, smooth, tables metal cans stare back at him.

“Mistah Ransom?” Rita calls from the kitchen island. “Did ya find those veggies and beans alright?”

Peter clears his throat and reluctantly reaches for two cans. “Yes Rita, give me just a moment,” he says and straightens. Hopefully Rita will open the can herself and he’ll be put on veggie duty. Hopefully it will all be completely fine.

When Peter walks over with the beans and frankly terrifying looking can opener, Rita beams. “Great, thanks so much! Huh, wonder what happened to those funky little opener tabs. Anyway, think ya can open those for me?”

Peter’s smile remains intact but sirens begin to blare in his mind. They’re loud and obnoxious, with a robotic voice shouting _danger, do not proceed_ over and over again on a calm yet alarmed loop. Foiling his father’s plans to drop New Kinshasa feels less stressful than this right now.

He looks down at the can opener and then back to Rita, who’s looking so expectant. “Why yes, of course,” Peter says quickly. “I know how to use a can opener. Obviously.”

“Great!” Rita says. “Hop to it then, Mistah Ransom.”

The smile still on his lips feels like a pained grimace. Peter inhales quietly and sets the cans down, mentally preparing himself.

He can do this. It’s completely fine, there’s absolutely no reason for him to be scared of using a _can opener_ of all things. Sure, he’s only ever attempted once, but surely it can’t be that hard. Open, squeeze, turn. It’s simple motions, faster than picking a lock with his eyes open.

Still, as Peter picks up the can opener again, glancing over the rusted spikes, he pauses. His eyes drift over to the knife sitting on Rita’s cutting board, thinks about how _easy_ it would be to just stab the damn can and get it over with instead of using this demonic contraption.

Rita turns around with a handful of dripping wet lettuce. “You heard Captain Aurinko,” she says, “I ain’t gonna dilly dally around. They’re gonna need the beans soon.”

Peter means to nod and just open the damn beans. He means to get it over with and face the inevitable fight with the can opener and hope that Juno’s too busy doing whatever else to witness it. Instead what comes out of his mouth is, “My apologies, Rita, if you could excuse me just a moment.” And then he promptly flees from the room.

From the kitchen Peter can hear his crewmates’ confusion— as well as one “Oh thank god he’s gone” from Vespa— but all he can think about is that he’s free of that goddamn can opener for now. Maybe it wasn’t the most graceful of exits, but it was effective nonetheless. Peter counts that as a half win— can opener: one; Peter: zero point five.

**II.**

It takes three weeks for the teasing over the _running from the can opener_ incident to subside. Juno will still make jokes about it or raise an eyebrow at Peter every time the thing is out, but the light and excitement in his eyes is enough to keep Peter from being too offended.

Still, he decides that a change needs to be made.

It’s the equivalent of three in the morning and Peter’s staring down an unopened can of pineapples like it personally ruined his life. And in all honesty, with those stupid can-opener required lids, it might as well have. The bright yellow label stares at him mockingly, with its no-tab lid and promises of food.

He’d fallen asleep during stream night with Rita, napping through dinner, and now he’s hungry. Not wanting to have to bother anyone else and not having found any appetizing looking leftovers, Peter found the pineapples in hopes it would suffice as a snack. After stepping back into the dim lights of the Carte Blanche kitchen, Peter’s realized with dread that this is not the case.

“I don’t _really_ need to do this,” he mutters to himself, arms crossed. He doesn’t owe anyone anything. Well, metaphorically anyway. At the very least, he doesn’t owe this damn can opener anything.

But still. He might not be as egoistical as Mag was, but Peter does have a bit of pride and dignity left. Sometimes, in times like this, he wonders whether he had any to begin with.

After staring down the pineapples for another whole minute, Peter sighs, exasperated. “Fine. I’m not sure if this is Captain Aurinko’s method of letting me know she knows how incompetent I am or just a cruel joke, I will prove them wrong.”

He clenches his jaw and reaches for the can opener. Just as he pries the thing open, the lights flicker on and Jet steps out of the shadows. He looks tired, with a sleep mask pushed onto his forehead and polite confusion on his face as he takes in the sight before him.

“Oh,” Jet says. “I was unaware there was someone in here. My apologies, Peter.”

“Hello, Jet,” Peter says stiffly. He awkwardly sets the can opener back down and picks up the can of pineapples, turning it to read the back labels. From the corner of his eye, Peter watches Jet walk up to the tap and refill his water bottle, seemingly entirely unbothered of Peter’s presence.

When Jet screws the lid back on and catches Peter watching him he asks, “Was there something you need?”

“Oh, no I’m quite alright—”

“Perhaps with that can of pineapples you have?” Jet says. “It’s really no problem. If you’d like me to open this can of pineapples for you, simply say the word.”

Peter tries not to grimace, wishing he could melt into the floor. Really, what’s the point of being a master thief if you can’t escape your crewmate and one of your childhood heroes offering assistance with a can opener of all things. They aren’t even that close, Peter has a suspicion that Jet is still… displeased about his relationship with the Ruby7. Perhaps he thinks that she likes Peter more.

Well, it’s no matter. The biggest problem at hand is that he’s _still_ holding these pineapples and is looking like a complete fool. It’s no fun to when there’s not at least Juno there to give him that soft, teasing smile of his.

Peter sighs. “Nope, I was just leaving,” he says quickly, placing the can on the counter a bit too loudly. “Have a good night, Jet.”

“You as well.”

On his way out, Peter swipes an open sleeve of saltine crackers off the table— not his first choice but he’s never had the luxury of being picky, it will suffice— and retreats back to his room. Logically, this makes no sense since Jet’s going to be headed the exact same direction, but Peter’s hardly thinking right now. Count on him to be level headed with a gun aimed at the back of his skull but never when faced with the debacle that is working a can opener.

Once the door has closed behind him, Peter lets out a deep sigh and pulls out a cracker. It’s a bit stale.

From the bed, Juno turns over sleepily. “Nureyev?” he murmurs. “Where’d you go off to?”

Discreetly wiping crumps off his shirt, Peter smiles fondly as he strides over. He smooths back Juno’s hair, heart skipping at the way Juno leans into his touch. Unable to help it, Peter presses a kiss to Juno’s forehead. “Nowhere important,” he says. The packet of crackers crinkle as he places them on the nightstand.

Juno’s nose wrinkles and he cracks open his eye. “Nureyev, what the hell, are those saltines?”

Peter sighs, pushing out of his slippers and sliding under the blanket next to Juno. “It’s a long story, my love. Go back to sleep. For my sake, please, I’d rather not discuss it.”

Juno’s eyebrow raises but luckily he only shrugs and pulls Peter closer to him. “G’night.”

“Sleep well, Juno,” Peter replies softly. He nearly forgets about the incident from a few minutes ago until he hears Jet’s footsteps out in the hall. Peter suppresses a sigh. Can opener: two; Peter: zero point five.

**III.**

Perhaps Peter shouldn’t be surprised when Juno figures it out. After all, he _was_ a detective for a while.

He’s standing in the kitchen, faced yet again with a can he can no longer open. Peter stares at it pensively, one of his sharper, smaller knives in hand as he tries to think of the best way to open it.

If there was some way around just getting a can, Peter couldn’t find it, and he’d like to think as a master thief that he can find any way in. No such luck here though. But Peter refuses to give up. He can do this.

Right as Peter’s angled the knife at one of the edges, brows furrowed in concentration, Juno walks in. The mechanical door slides open with a small hiss and the sound of Juno’s light footsteps stop abruptly.

“Nureyev?” he says, bewildered. “What’re you even doing?”

Peter winces. “Well, my dear detective, I was simply grabbing a bite to eat.”

“You were— wait a minute.” Juno glances from the can to the knife to Peter’s face. He gets his mystery solving look, then his eye lights up with something akin to glee. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. You were going to stab the can with the knife, weren’t you.” It’s not a question. They both know that is exactly what Peter was going to do.

One giggle escapes Juno’s lips. And then another. Within a few minutes he’s gripping the counter laughing, his eye narrowed and mouth open in a grin. Peter would admire the sight if not for the fact Juno’s laughter is at his expense.

“Nureyev,” Juno finally chokes out, “I knew that you had _issues_ with the can opener but I didn’t think you’d actually try to stab it.”

“Oh do be quiet, Juno,” Peter sighs, putting his face in his hands. “I was simply trying to adapt to a new situation.”

“If you needed help with it, you literally could’ve just asked,” Juno says. “Like, any one of us would’ve been glad to help you out.”

Peter winces. “Well, given your current reaction, not without some mockery so I thought it best to keep this to myself.”

“Yeah?” Juno asks. “And how’s that going?”

Peter opens his mouth but then closes. His pride has already been wounded tonight, he doesn’t want to do even more damage.

“Yep, that’s what I thought,” Juno says. But then he moves over to stand next to Peter, pulling the wretched can opener out of its drawer and putting a gentle hand down on the knife in Peter’s hand until it lowers.

“What’re you doing, Juno?” Peter asks. He eyes the can opener warily.

Juno flashes a grin. “I’m gonna show you how to use the can opener.”

“Juno I have already tried—”

“No, no, just watch, okay?” Juno cuts him off. “Just trust me.”

Peter pauses but then heaves a sigh, slipping his knife back into its place. “If you insist.”

“Great,” Juno says. And then he opens the jaws of the opener, explaining everything slowly and carefully to Peter like he’s a child learning to add, and Peter feels at once humiliated and fond.

It takes about ten minutes, by the end of which Juno’s opened two cans so easily. Peter’s fears are assuaged a bit, but he still refuses when Juno offers him the can opener to try it himself.

“I think I’ll pass for now,” Peter says. “Though I truly appreciate the effort. Perhaps another time?”

“Alright then,” Juno says. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Peter says, nodding. “And I would prefer if this stayed between us, dear. As lovely as the rest of the crew is, I do not have hope that they’d react appropriately to this knowledge.”

Juno snickers. “Of course, secret’s safe with me. I hold it even closer to my heart than your name.”

Peter sighs dramatically, shaking his head. Still, a smile forms on his lips and he says, “Thank you, Juno. Really. I’m not sure how much help this might be, but thank you for taking the time to show me.”

Juno steps closer, putting down the can opener and pressing a light kiss on Peter’s lips. When he pulls back he says, “Of course.”

They leave the kitchen together, splitting one of the cans of peaches Juno opened, silent as they return to Juno’s room.

With Juno’s help, Peter considers this close enough to success. Can opener: three; Peter: one.

**IV.**

The next time Peter ends up in the kitchen by himself— something carefully planned for a time with absolutely no interruptions, in other words, three in the morning— he’s on a mission. It’s been two days since Juno gave the humiliating tutorial, and either for his pride or his craving for some corned beef, Peter is determined.

He strides up to the drawer with the confidence of Duke Rose and a hundred other aliases with far more confidence in their ability to do simple household tasks than Peter Nureyev, and pulls it open with a flourish. The metal screeches as the drawer opens and he grabs the can opener quickly, like it might bite him or he might change his mind. Peter would not be surprised if either event happened.

In his head, he repeats the instructions Juno had given. He’s got it memorized word for word by now, if held at knife point Peter could recite the entire thing verbatim, but he reminds himself anyway. If he wants to do this, he has to do everything right.

The second Peter’s back in front of the corned beef, every single instruction dissipates. Everything narrows down to just him, the can of corned beef, and this goddamn can opener.

He picks the opener up. He turns it in his hands, opens and closes the spikey jaws and twists the knob on the side. He looks at the rim of the can. He freezes.

 _Remember_ , Peter scolds himself. _Remember, remember, remember_. And he does, technically. But the words mean absolutely nothing. Listening to Juno explain is one thing but applying the knowledge and attempting to open something by himself is another. He tries his best anyway.

“Alright,” he mutters, sighing quietly. Slowly, he opens the hideous jaws of the can opener, setting the teeth on the rim of the can. Then, as Juno instructed, pulls the handles back together. When Juno did it, there was a small click as the teeth set into the aluminum. When Peter does it, there’s a resounding crunch.

Though his eyes were squeezed shut, Peter cracks them open and peers down. The rim of the can has bent out and to the side, a small drizzle of liquid leaking out of the hole. Peter swears in Brahmese.

“This is fine,” he grits out, wincing even as he does. Replaying Juno’s instructions, he tries to turn the little knob on the side of the can opener. At first it doesn’t budge so he pushes harder. Instead of cracking open the lid though, he’s only further mangled the can. Somehow, the teeth have ripped through all of the paper. Some parts of the metal are dented, others scratched or shredded. Peter didn’t even know this was something you could do with a can opener.

Primly, he sets the can and the can opener, still wedged into it, on the counter. “Oh dear,” he mutters. And then, as master thieves tend to do, he flees the kitchen. No one needs to know, he tells himself. That being said, can opener: four; Peter: one point five.

(Later, around ten in the morning, however, everyone knows. Everyone is lounging in the main room, strewn about lazily on this rare day off. The calm is interrupted, however, when Buddy strides into the room with the monstrosity of modern art Peter created earlier that morning. If he were a lesser actor, Peter would grimace and hide his face in shame. Thankfully, he keeps his face blank as Buddy asks, “Darlings, though you are free to do as you wish on this ship, would any of you care to explain this?”

From Peter’s side, Juno tries and fails to hide a loud snort. When they lock eyes, Peter’s eyes are murderous. He loves Juno Steel, but there is no question that the lady is _infuriating_.)

**V.**

Following the _incident_ , as Juno likes to call it, there is a new addition to the Carte Blanche kitchen. At first, Peter doesn’t pay it too much mind. If anything he treats it like a slightly toaster shaped statue. He doesn’t even know what it’s supposed to be and is never in the kitchen to see anyone use it.

But then one morning he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen craving some olives. Juno is sitting on the counter, oddly close to the _thing_ that has been decorating the space. “Hello honey,” he greets Peter sweetly.

Though he’s a bit suspicious, Peter comes up to stand between Juno’s legs, kissing him easily. Despite the decent height the countertop gives Juno, Peter is still taller, which he comments on.

“Shut up and just kiss me,” Juno grumbles against his lips.

For a few blissful minutes, Peter forgets the purpose of coming into the kitchen. But then Juno pulls away and that mischievous smirk is back. “Oh right,” he says, scooting to the side. “I know that you never actually said it was you but we kinda all figured out that the incident with the corned beef was you. Hey, don’t give me that look, I swear it wasn’t me! Anyway, after that, Jet picked up a little something and Buddy wanted me to show it to you.”

Peter steps back, shoving down his mortification. “Juno dear, unless it’s some magical piece of machinery that will open these cans for me, I am not sure this will be of any help.”

“Well _actually_ ,” Juno snorts. He picks up a can of olives, beaming, and comes to present the mysterious object. “Nureyev, meet our new can opener. It’s electric.”

Peter’s blood runs cold, any remaining sleepiness dissipating in an instant. He stares as Juno holds the can up to the machine and starts to explain with barely contained laughter. What was once just an odd piece of metal with a lever sticking out of the side and a blade looks menacing. The blade shines at him, and though Peter hasn’t been afraid of a sharp edge since he was a little street rat on the streets of Brahma, the feeling he gets staring at this so called can opener feels a lot like fear.

“Nureyev?” Juno asks. He’s pulled the can away from that wretched machine and pops the lid open to offer Peter an olive. “Are you okay?”

There’s a long pause. Peter stares at the olive, then Juno, and finally the machine can opener again. “I think,” he begins, but his voice fades. He clears his throat. “I think that I will pass on that offer. Thank you, my love.”

With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way out of the kitchen, far away as he can get on the Carte Blanche from the new can opener. He’s not even going to _try_ with that one. Just this once, he will admit defeat. It’s better than getting his fingers crushed in the spikes.

Peter doesn’t notice Vespa leaning against the doorframe at first, doubled over in laughter. “Ransom, your fucking face,” she wheezes out before being consumed by laughter again. “You didn’t hear me say this, but thanks for telling me you were showing your boy the can opener, Steel.”

Spinning around, Peter refocuses his glare on Juno, who shrugs. “Betrayal,” he hisses. “How long have you even been standing there?”

Vespa takes a moment to catch her breath but shrugs. “I just showed up as you were hiking your sorry ass out of here. By all means though, keep on running. The less pancakes I have to make the better.”

“I see,” Peter says, annoyed but quietly relieved. She hadn’t heard his name, good. “Well, I am glad to have provided you two some _entertainment_ , but I must go now.”

“I love you!” Juno calls after him.

Peter heaves a sigh, looking back over his shoulder. “I love you too, all things considering,” he says sincerely.

Juno smiles at him, eye crinkling fondly. The constant ache in Peter’s chest grows just a bit more just watching him.

The moment is broken when Vespa fake gags, her nose scrunched and a hand in the bag of flour. “Ugh, get a room.”

This time it’s Peter who laughs, light as air as he heads back to his room, the new can opener temporarily forgotten. When he’s taking a break from studying the new maps later though, Peter realizes that it was technically another loss. He curses under his breath.

Can opener: five; Peter: one point five. Given this new can opener though, he realizes it’s best if he just surrenders now. There is no way in any realm or existence he will even attempt to use that thing. Peter is a prideful man, yes, but he’s also got a healthy amount of fear and can admit when he’s lost. And _oh_ has he ever lost.

Peter shakes his head and goes back to work.

**+I.**

After his pathetic and brief feud with the can openers on the Carte Blanche, Peter has decided to disregard their existence as a whole. He doesn’t even want to try with either, and if Buddy won’t get more cans with the simple tab pull opening, _fine_. He’s Peter Nureyev, the nameless thief and legend, he can be adaptable. Can he use a can opener? No, but he would like to play this off as difficulty from being left handed. The point is, Peter doesn’t need some can opener to get his food.

This time when he comes into the kitchen, it’s midday. His shoulders are set with determination and there is a knife in his hand.

Rita, who was already here cooking some rice, looks up. “Er, Mistah Ransom? We’re gonna have lunch in just a few minutes. You can have a snack I guess, I ain’t here to tell ya what to do but…”

“Thank you Rita,” Peter says congenially, “but I am merely here to prove a point.”

She blinks at him for a moment. “Uh, what point? You gonna use that there knife for something? If you’re gonna do something violent at least warn a lady though, I don’t really wanna—”

“Fear not, Rita, it’s simply a point to myself,” Peter says calmly. He opens the pantry and asks, “what were you hoping to have as a side with this meal?”

“Geez Mistah Ransom, thanks for helpin’ out and all but I’ve got cooking covered. If you wanna grab a can of green beans from one of those _really_ high shelves though, that’d be super! You know, you’re like one of those big giants in this one stream—”

Peter retrieves a can of green beans with ease, setting them purposefully on the counter. Then, he stabs it with his knife. The blade goes through the lid and a bit of juice pours from the hole. Satisfied, Peter stabs the can again to widen the hole.

“Oh,” Rita says, cutting herself off. She blinks at the punctured can. “Well, if you could drain the rest of that water while you’re at it.”

“With pleasure,” Peter says, already stabbing the can again. Once there’s enough holes to pry the lid off, Peter walks causally to the sink and drains the green beans smugly.

He called off the feud, of course, but he can’t help it. The can openers may have had five wins, but now Peter has two and a half.

There’s a choked noise in the doorway and Peter looks up to see Juno looking entirely bewildered. “I— Nureyev, did you just stab that can of beans?” he mutters.

Peter looks from the draining can back to Juno and nods. “Why yes dear,” he says. “Yes I did.”

“I— You know what, I’m not even going to question this,” Juno says. He walks up and wraps his arms around Peter’s waist, ignoring Rita’s loud humming in the background. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Peter flashes a grin. “I’d like to think of myself as a visionary, but thank you love.”

“Dork.”

“You love me anyway,” Peter singsongs.

The grin that breaks across Juno’s lips is immediate. “Yeah, yeah I do.” Even as he reaches up for a kiss, it remains.

Peter’s too caught up in it all to care when Buddy and Jet walk in. When Buddy says, “Ransom, though I support you very much, this is a reminder to please remember to impale cans with your _own_ knives rather than other people’s,” he doesn’t even notice.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been my side fic that i work on to cope with shit since october and its now finished! i'm kind of sad about that but hey don't worry because i am writing a minecraft youtuber au for these fools aka my next dumb project for while i do events. (also i swear i'm updating vampire au soon, i havent forgotten!!!)
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading this tomfoolery, if you want, you can catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/adverbialnouns) or [tumblr](http://adverbialstarlight.tumblr.com)


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